A Matter of Time 07 - Parting Shot (MM)

by Mary Calmes

  “Yes, I can walk,” I grumbled.

  He chuckled. “Hurry up, all right?”

  The phone went dead, and I realized he had basically ordered me to get my ass in gear. And though I started to ache, I got up anyway to change into some clean clothes.

  IT WAS a nice car: some kind of big, fancy black BMW sedan with tinted windows, a shiny paint job that reflected all the city lights, and sparkling chrome. When it rolled up to the curb beside me, I stood there looking at my reflection for a minute before the window rolled down and I was looking at Aaron Sutter.

  The luminous aqua eyes, fringed with long gold lashes, stared out at me from the darkness of the car. I nearly swallowed my tongue. “Hi,” I said lamely.

  The door opened. “Get in.”

  The driver was suddenly there beside me, holding out a hand for my bag. I passed it to him as I saw the trunk open, and then got in, closing the door behind me. When I turned to Aaron, he gasped.

  “Aww, it’s not that bad.” I grinned, trying to sound normal and not like my heart was about to pound its way out of my chest.

  His brows were furrowed, and his eyes glinted in the low light. “It’s worse, actually,” he assured me, reaching out to put a hand on my cheek.

  I leaned into his touch. I couldn’t help it.

  “Jesus, I so get this now,” he said.

  “Mmmm?”

  “Yeah. The whole comforting-a-policeman thing,” he clarified. “No wonder I never had a chance with Jory. This is scary addictive.”

  “What?”

  He shook his head, then told the driver we were ready to go.

  As the car pulled away from the curb, I covered his hand with mine and slid it down my cheek before turning it over to kiss his palm. “I’m really happy to see you,” I said, watching him, memorizing every reaction as I leaned close, unable to resist the temptation of his ear. Gently, I sucked the soft flesh just past my lips and nibbled slowly around the curve of his lobe.

  He shivered hard and tilted his head away, just barely. I followed the sway of his body, moving my mouth to the tender skin behind his ear and then trailing down the side of his neck, kissing and suckling. Using the cord of muscle as my guide, I licked and finally bit, not enough to hurt, just enough so he could feel my teeth.

  “Duncan.” He jolted, pulling away.

  “Shit, I’m—”

  “No,” he stopped me. “I just don’t want to attack you right here in the car. It’s sort of tacky, right?”

  “Is it?”

  He scowled. “Let me get you to my suite. You can take a long, hot bath, I’ll order room service, and we can sit out on the terrace and take in the view of Central Park.”

  “And?”

  “And after I take care of you and make sure you’re fine—then I’m all yours.”

  He was used to giving orders; I wasn’t used to taking them. “Screw that,” I growled, cupping his face in my hands and pulling him close for a kiss.

  I didn’t even have to press: he opened for me the second our lips sealed together. Sliding inside his wet heat, I rubbed my tongue over his, tasting, reminding him I had done this before. He melted against me, pliant and willing, his moan deep and throaty. He had no idea how much I loved surrender noises, how thick and aching my cock suddenly was, swelling almost painfully inside my jeans.

  When he kissed me back, grinding our mouths together, stroking my tongue with his, sucking on my lips, hands fluttering on the side of my neck, I knew he was mine for the taking.

  “You taste good,” I barely got out, shifting sideways, tugging him over into my lap so he straddled my hips. He tried to untangle himself, but I kissed him, hard and rough, and drained the fight out of him.

  “Duncan,” he moaned softly when I finally let him breathe, shoving his groin against my abdomen, needing the friction, his hands gripping my chest as he began a slow, driving rhythm. “I missed you… I….” He couldn’t finish, his words stilted.

  I found that incredibly hot.

  “This isn’t me,” he said.

  “What?”

  “I never… need.”

  He was about control. I understood that. He was rich and powerful; Aaron Sutter was not the kind of man who should get off on rubbing his cock against my abs. But he was, and the hunger and the yearning were his undoing. He was coming apart in my arms, and I wanted to see it, to feel it in my hands even more. I made quick work of his belt, and I had the stays of his dress pants open and the zipper down seconds later.

  “You’re hurt,” he said, his voice cracking as he puffed air over my skin, wet and hot.

  I slipped his cock from under his briefs, and wrapped my hand around the long, thick length of him, loving the feel of the silky skin, smearing the leaking precome over the flared head, and slowly, sensuously, jerking him off.

  He shoved forward into my grip and barked at the driver at the same time. “Park the car!”

  When you were worth billions, I guessed, people just knew what you meant. But I was only peripherally aware we had gone in a different direction. I was much too focused on the breathtaking man in my lap, writhing with need, pistoning in and out of my fist.

  I lifted my left hand to his lips. “Suck on my fingers. Get ’em real wet.”

  He understood, opening instantly, taking them deep into his mouth, coating and laving my index and middle fingers until, when I eased them free, they were slick with saliva.

  We stopped, and I heard the door open and close, was aware of the sound of the power locks and then the footsteps of dress shoes over concrete.

  “Lift up,” I ordered, and he rose, leaning forward and curling his back so it grazed the roof of the car instead of bumping it as I put my hand down the back of his trousers.

  “I never… I don’t… I….”

  He was good, proper, and only sinful behind closed doors. He was Aaron fucking Sutter. He didn’t shed inhibitions in public; it was unseemly. The idea that he was so far gone all his reticence sailed right out the window, was just about the hottest thing I could think of.

  I squeezed his shaft as I pressed my middle finger inside him. He bucked forward, and it hurt me—my ribs, my side—but only sharply for a second and not enough to stop. His head thrown back, the arch of his spine, how he was biting his bottom lip: he was a vision, and I couldn’t be bothered with my comfort. All that mattered was him.

  I dragged my fingertip over his prostate, and he babbled something incomprehensible as he pushed in and out of my fist. “Is it good?” I prodded, my voice rumbling out of me because watching him was a gift.

  His mouth was open and all I heard were gasps as I added a second finger, scissoring, breaching the tight muscles, feeling the give as they loosened and I pressed deep inside the tight, hot channel.

  “Duncan, please,” he begged me, hands clenched on my shoulders, taking my fingers to the knuckles, rising up and shoving back down, over and over.

  “Turn around and I’ll shove my tongue up your ass.”

  His moan was raw and strangled; he had nearly climaxed with just the suggestion.

  “You want me to do that? Huh? Aaron? You want me to rim you ’til you scream?”

  He shuddered and shot come onto the front of my gray T-shirt, yelling my name as his orgasm rushed through him, freezing all his muscles.

  I didn’t move. I let the aftershocks roll through him, felt the shiver begin as semen seeped from his slowly softening dick.

  His hands relaxed their grip on my shoulders, and he bent down, burrowing into my chest as I eased my fingers from his spasming passage. His sharp inhale, his arms wrapped tight around my neck, and his face in the hollow of my throat changed passion to possession in an instant. I had the overwhelming urge to demand no one ever be allowed to see him like this except me. I wanted to tell him he belonged to me, but it was too fast, and I was afraid it would scare him off.

  I didn’t want him to run. More importantly, I didn’t want him to order me to stay away from him.

>   “Get your dick out so I can suck it,” he directed softly, still twitching, his body overstimulated, overly sensitized, and quivering with the sensation of coming down from the euphoria of his orgasm.

  “Just let me hold you, all right?” I said, gathering him in my arms, pressing him tight to my chest, the pain of no consequence, and I kissed his forehead. “Can I be shelter for just a sec?”

  He gave me his weight, sort of melting over me, and I sighed deeply. He was vulnerable, and I was there for him. It felt good to not only be wanted, but needed too.

  Chapter 3

  HE DIDN’T want us to separate to walk into the lobby, but I insisted. He got out first, and minutes later, I followed, having collected my duffel from the trunk and thanked the driver. I wasn’t sure if I should tip him, but I had a feeling, from the fact he didn’t pick up anyone else but simply drove away, Mr. Sutter had compensated him already.

  Inside, Aaron waited, and I joined him in an elevator you had to put a key into before the buttons would light up for the higher floors. Apparently, the suite we were going to was the penthouse.

  “Holy shit,” I said, awed at the spectacle once I was inside.

  The room was huge; you could see the skyline and park from the enormous terrace, and the windows and the city lights…. I was overwhelmed.

  “This is gorgeous,” I gushed. “Thank you for inviting me.”

  He seemed like he was in pain.

  “What’s wrong with you?”

  “Why won’t you let me touch you?”

  I gave out a very undignified snort of laughter. “Are you kidding?” I opened my arms wide for him. “Come touch me. Put your hands all over me.”

  “I want to suck your cock,” he almost yelled at me. “Why won’t you let me?”

  “You think I’m just gonna come down your throat without showing you a paper that tells you I’m clean? What kind of ruthless prick do you think I am?”

  He charged across the room, stopping just inches from me, staring deep into my eyes. “I know all about your many, many conquests. I checked you out backward and forward, just so you’re aware, Detective.”

  “Did you?”

  “Yes, I did.” He was adamant. “I wanted to learn every dirty little secret you had, and guess what? Besides the being gay thing and the fucking anything with a pulse thing, you don’t have any skeletons at all.”

  But that was a lie, and we both knew it because if he had checked me out like he said, then he knew there was a piece of my life that was hidden away. But we weren’t talking about that, not about ancient history, we were talking about now. And there was nothing recent, that was true, nothing new, but there were things he would never know unless I offered them up.

  “You might think you’re all badass, but in comparison to people I know, you’re a damn boy scout.”

  He was trying to sound all pissed off and tough, but all I saw were his puffy lips, the stubble burn on his cheeks, the flush of sex, and the hickeys on his throat. The blown pupils, slight tremble, and tousled hair were all dead giveaways of sated passion.

  “You wanna go to bed?” I asked.

  “What?”

  “Do you… want me… to take you to bed?”

  He nodded as he stared up into my face.

  “What happened to feeding me and a hot bath and all that shit?”

  His eyes were turbulent. “I’m—I feel sort of off balance.”

  I grinned. “That’s okay. Me too.”

  He scowled. “How do you just say what you mean?”

  “Why not?” I shrugged. “You like me right?”

  “I do.”

  “Same here,” I said bluntly. “When I’m with you, I feel really good. I want that.”

  He shook his head.

  “What?”

  “You don’t believe in games? Just don’t play them?”

  I shrugged. “Why? This is new, and I haven’t screwed it up yet, and you’re looking at me like I’m special. Let’s go with that.”

  He studied me.

  “What?”

  “You don’t worry that I’ll lose interest without the mystery?”

  I met his gaze. “Are you bored?”

  “No.”

  “What do you want?”

  “To spend time with you.”

  “Well there ya go.” I chuckled. “So we’re on the same page, and you’re still into me, at least so far.”

  “So far,” he said, his voice husky.

  Everything blurred for a second, and I squinted until my vision cleared.

  “Maybe you should lie down.”

  “Maybe,” I agreed.

  He was there fast, his arm around me, and I leaned as we walked into the bedroom.

  “This suite is like a million dollars a night, huh?”

  “Yep,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice as we crossed from the doorway to the bed, and he dumped me down onto it.

  “I take it back.” I groaned, letting my arms fall open, my legs too, the California King able to accommodate all of me, even stretched out. “You’re trying to kill me.”

  “No,” he sighed, taking a seat beside me as my eyes fluttered shut. “I promise you, that’s the very last thing on my mind.”

  “This might not have been the best idea,” I managed to get out. “I think I might pass out on you.”

  “That’s fine. Go right ahead.”

  And I was going to argue, but the bed felt so good and soft, and I exhaled and assured myself I would rest just for a minute.

  SOMETHING smelled amazing. My eyes fluttered open, and I found a bemused Aaron Sutter sitting beside me in a T-shirt and sleep shorts.

  “Crap,” I groaned.

  He did a curious thing then: bent and kissed me.

  “How do I deserve that?”

  “Because it’s raining outside and we’re warm in here, and I sat in bed and watched a movie while you slept beside me. It was really nice.”

  “Man, you are easy to please.”

  “Not normally,” he said gruffly.

  I rolled over into his lap, wrapped my arm around his hip, and used him for a pillow as I focused my eyes on the huge flat screen in front of me. “CNN? Really?”

  His fingers curled languidly through my hair. “One must stay apprised, Detective.”

  “At whatever the hell time it is on a Thursday night?”

  “Always.”

  “Why don’t you watch Lord of the Rings or something?”

  He grunted.

  “Come on, Viggo’s hot.”

  “You think?”

  “You don’t?”

  “I prefer Sean Bean.”

  “Yeah?”

  The rumbling purr made me clutch him tighter. “Big men do it for me.”

  It was a good answer. “Nice.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Starving, actually.”

  “Good,” he said, twisting his hand in my thick hair. “Eat and then take a shower and lay back down with me.”

  “How is that any fun for you?”

  “No one ever lets me take care of them. If you’d let me—that would be good.”

  Why would I argue? I lifted up until we were eye to eye and stared. He held my gaze, and there we were, looking at each other for long minutes, seemingly content to do so, until I leaned forward and kissed him.

  “What’d you get me to eat?”

  He wrapped his arms around my neck and squeezed tight. It was really nice, just to be held, just to be wanted.

  The burger he ordered was enormous. It was covered in onion rings, barbecue sauce, and blue cheese, as well as jack. Apparently it was a Sutter original the chef there only made for him. I had coleslaw and sweet-potato fries and a skewer of sautéed mushrooms with a thick chocolate milkshake to wash it down and a pitcher of ice water. Normally, he said, he’d ply me with alcohol, but with a maybe concussion, he wasn’t willing to risk it.

  After I ate, I needed to be clean, having not showered when
I got home from the hospital.

  The shower was enormous, and it had a removable head, which made things so much easier. I was sore, so I was careful to wash around the stitches. When I was out and looking at my swollen cheek, red, puffy eye, and the various scrapes and cuts, I realized I must have looked worse when Aaron saw me earlier.

  “What are you looking at?” he asked as he walked into the bathroom behind me.

  I faced him, leaning back against the counter, the towel around my hips all I was wearing. “I don’t get you.”

  “You’re changing the sub—”

  “What’s with you and the slumming?”

  “In what way am I slumming?” he wanted to know, moving closer, his gaze hot as he took me in.

  I crossed my arms and legs as I surveyed him, and he slid a hand up my left bicep, his fingers tracing the muscle and veins under my pale skin. “How come you don’t have a rich boyfriend?”

  He slipped his hand to my shoulder and left it there as the knuckles of his other hand smoothed over my abdomen, up and down. The motion was lulling and erotic at the same time. “That would make sense, wouldn’t it?”

  “To me it would.”

  “I’m sure to most people it would,” he said, crowding me, putting both hands on my face as he leaned toward me. “Have someone to just call and meet in Paris at a moment’s notice.”

  I murmured some form of yes before his lips sealed over mine.

  Even compared to what I’d felt with Nate, my ex—who I thought I’d loved almost desperately—it was more with Aaron Sutter. I didn’t have that overwhelming feeling he had one foot out the door. I didn’t feel like the man in front of me would one day just be gone, which was weird since, by rights, he wasn’t even mine.

  His tongue pressed for entrance, sliding over the seam of my lips, and I opened for him as he fell forward into me.

  I was lost in the feel of him: the heat from his body, his groin grinding against mine through the towel, his hands on my hips, working it open.

  My shiver was uncontrollable, and he pulled back, breaking the kiss in response. “I’m not slumming,” he panted as he stared into my eyes. The next moment, he succeeded in opening my towel before he dropped to his knees.